


Busted, Twice

by sexywiddlebaby



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Short One Shot, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexywiddlebaby/pseuds/sexywiddlebaby
Summary: Jeremy becomes short (hehe) of a fully-functioning car on his way out of the office and stops himself at Jack's place. Intending to get someone over to fix it ASAP, he takes a few too many diversions and ends up embarrassing himself. Ah, c'est la vie.[021]





	Busted, Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Both of them are painfully single here. (No established relationships to mess with.)
> 
> This is my first AH fic! We'll see if there's any more...here's looking at you, Doolvic. And if you can, give us a cheeky comment lad. Really helps the ol' fingers know what I'm sharing is worthwhile. :-)

It's another warm day in Austin, which isn't to say it's a day of regularities; the Achievement Hunter building closed barely a few minutes after opening due to some dumb experiment performed on Michael's desk. Jeremy managed to get his toe across the threshold of the door before he saw the dark smoke pluming into the lights and Gavin's distinctive yell of horror. Ryan didn't even make it to the building before he got a call detailing the smell of bile and rotting carcasses that engulfed the editor's office.

Leaving brusquely, Jeremy speeds down the city roads with an arm dangling out his window, and he particularly enjoys the air rushing between the gaps in his fingertips as he accelerates past a junction. His radio crackles in time with his music, and he fiddles with the volume dial excessively until the whole block knows that Jeremy's a diehard fan of Fozzy. As he slows down to meet a red light, and he waves a couple of teenagers across the road, the driver behind him stops suddenly at a distance that seems to test both of their collective patience. One middle finger exchange later, Jeremy resumes his journey south.

Then comes the unwelcome tirade of car horns (a rather depressing attempt at a fanfare, if he says so). Jeremy clenches his jaw. A particularly angry woman, age unimportant, manages to overtake him and scream above Chris Jericho's voice: "Use your fucking lights!"

With little motivation to carry on, Jeremy deliberately pulls up into a familiar driveway, sticks his car into neutral and examines it. Sure enough, his indicators don't seem to cooperate when he wants them to. ( _Bloody brilliant,_ as Gav might say.) Shutting the engine off, Jeremy abandons his car and goes for this house's front door, rapping at the door with the silver knocker. He notices the heat gets increasingly unforgiving the longer he waits.

Jack hears the impatient bangs against his front door. He's not expecting guests or a delivery, so he tentatively pauses his game and creeps up to the door. Ready to be overly formal, he opens it to the sticky and affronting afternoon.

"Yell--Oh, it's you Jeremy! What brings you here?"

Disgruntled, Jeremy swings his thumb over his shoulder at his car behind him. "Old boy is givin' out on me again. The lights are going."

Jack frowns. "Have you got someone to look at it?"

"No," he answers simply, "but may I come in for a bit?"

"Of course," Jack says, and steps aside to let Jeremy dodge the door-frame.

Jack resumes his seat on his couch and collects his controller from the coffee table in front of him. He tries not to make too much unnecessary eye contact, even though Jeremy is readily on his mind. "Was that your stereo I could hear from about fifteen miles away, by any chance?"

Jeremy hides his grin by ducking his head and taps his foot. "You could hear that?"

Jack laughs, thinking about a million inappropriate responses he could insert into the conversation, but he decides to be a bit more respectable when Jeremy is around and not in the best mood. "If you want to see the guy I have, his number is near the phone. He can get you out of here in...oh, maybe an hour?"

"Sounds good."

Jeremy wanders through Jack's open plan kitchen and living area combination to inspect the oddities that decorate the space--four semi-burned candles, a takeout menu with burned corners, a half-eaten box of noodles--before coming across the landline hanging by the fridge. He stops short of the clean phone to address his warped and grubby reflection. He didn't really notice the state his tank top and hands were in until now--he certainly didn't leave his house covered in patches of dust, earth and failed science byproducts.

"Actually, can I use your shower first?"

Jack waves his hand in permission, and with that, Jeremy climbs the stairs.

* * *

A comparatively drab corridor holds the landing together in one piece. Jeremy peeks through the cracks of the doors as he pads down the hall, watching for bathroom tiles or a toilet seat. Flicking his sneakers off, he finds the shower at the penultimate door, inviting him to strip down and wash away whatever the hell Gavin had smeared him with.

_What's in the last room?_ his thoughts interrupt. _You should totally find out._ Curious, and somewhat eager, Jeremy swings the final door open. A wall of humid air confronts his face and pulls him inside.

He notices what must be Jack's bed and stray bits of laundry dotted around. The curtains aren't fully open and cast a light yellow hue into the space. He can spot odd socks in disarray, laying defeated as if Jack had taken his desktop fan and blown them full force into the air like fabric confetti. He could kill for that fan to be attending to him right about now.

_Psst, there's something on the bed too._

Jeremy takes a closer look at the bundle on the bed--he can tell from the way the print is bending under deep creases that this is one of Jack's frequently worn shirts--and finds himself sneaking mindlessly towards it.

_Should we...you know...?_

**What?** a contesting voice shouts, **No!**

_This is an open invitation though!_

**Get yourself together. Not now. Just use the shower and the phone, then leave, dickwad.**

Jeremy's hand trembles. He lifts the shirt from Jack's bed with his right hand and outstretches his arm. Dark patches wrap around his fingers when he spreads his hand open. Even from a distance, he can tell that he won't last very long with this specific shirt; the smell of sweat begins to infuse with the staler air in the bedroom and attack Jeremy's nose. Hairs on his arms begin to rise and a cool shudder passes through his teeth and down his spine.

_Just five minutes...please?_

**No.**

Jeremy's gaze breaks from the shirt to survey over his shoulders. Holy crap, his heart is not enjoying this.

_Nobody will know._

**How reassuring. May I remind you how terrible you are at keeping secrets?**

_This is a different kind of secret. It's not your everyday 'I read your confidential email by accident' or 'I broke the lamp again' kind of secret. I'm not that stupid._

**Put it down, Jeremy.**

He pushes the door to a close and attempts to leave his more sensible self in the hallway.

**You'll regret this.**

_You won't regret this._

Finally, he takes the courage to lay down on the bed and pop the button of his jeans with his left hand. His eyelids screw closed.

Assuming his natural position, Jeremy's left hand closes around his hardening shaft and begins to work its magic. His lip begins to dent under the anticipation. Fluidly, he connects the shirt with his face and brings it up to his nose. He's hit with the smell of Jack like a tonne of bricks; a smell so concentrated and vivid that his toes uncurl and his lungs breathe knives, and it's just the beginning.

His cock leans painfully and pitifully upwards, something akin to the crude longing for Jack that collects in his palms. How much he would give for just the opportunity to have Jack in this bed with him right now is a figure he can't begin to describe; he wants Jack's sturdy arms to hold him close and to comfort him, he wants to experience the slight tickle of beard against stubble, he wants to have Jack's lips crush his smoothly and sensually...

Jeremy feels the faint cologne from yesterday (or perhaps several days ago) cascade down his throat and refresh his dull headache. It reminds him of his antics that Jack selectively blocks out on a daily basis, and the way Jack's smell lingers around his desk late into the end of the work day. It reminds him of their true connection and the knowledge that Jack could be there for anything. It reminds him of how adequate everything was, and how much luck he was going to need if he were to pop the question.

He beats his hand up and down roughly and furrows his brow. God, he knows he's being a terrific idiot, but he's loving every second of it. A moan that he fails to suppress slides under the gap of the door to address Jack's innocent ears, but Jeremy doesn't care. His skin wants to melt into the soft cotton of the bedsheets and escape his tightening muscles, and he's going to do everything within his power to let it. The smell--Jack's smell--becomes persistent and all-consuming as Jeremy is left with nothing but two aching arms, his thoughts and testosterone.

Too involved with himself, Jeremy doesn't hear the creaks of floorboards that approach the bedroom door, or the quizzical call of his name...or the hand that twists the doorknob.

In a frenzy, Jeremy's cramping hand punches his cock to its finishing point, and his body folds concavely, and Jack's name is panted under his boiling breath. If only...if only...oh god...

Jack cocks an eye and waits for Jeremy to stop painting the bed with himself. Next, he attempts to maintain a serious demeanour, but he's so out of his depth and strangely relaxed by Jeremy's vulnerability that he erupts in gentle laughter.

_**Do you hear that?** **Jeremy!**_

Breathless, Jeremy's body seizes again, but with a more uncomfortable sensation. Jeremy's eyes slide over to the doorway to see Jack's head against his forearm.

"Are you fucking serious?!" Jack splutters between his surprised giggles. They're equally red-faced and a tangible layer of embarrassment separates them. Jeremy blinks slowly, as if he could slow down time this way and think of an excuse, but he accomplishes nothing more than a good eye-watering.

"This was not the shower I was expecting you to be taking, Jeremy." There's a friendly and bemused tone to Jack's voice whilst Jeremy processes the situation. The fact that Jack can see most of him and his fluids grows into an unpleasant feeling, so Jeremy hides his junk with the shirt and waddles up to the door.

"I...I," Jeremy begins carefully, "I can't explain."

Jack shakes his head. "Go take an actual one."

Jeremy, with a sleigh of apologies in tow, slips into the bathroom and blasts his shame with cold water. **I told you** , they begin.

"Oh, and Jeremy?"

"...Yeah?"

"Leave the cranking to the mechanic next time, won't ya?" He smiles when no answer is given.

Jack shivers with excitement and disgust when he gets a proper look at Jeremy's contribution to his bed. It's not entirely out of place, but man, he's got to sleep on this...

"...And you're washing my sheets too, bastard."


End file.
